Ninety-Five Minutes
by Celestos
Summary: AU. He'd carry on living regardless of the lapses. He just hoped Shou would be there to carry his body home. Judai-centric, ship as you please/overall friendship.


_**AU. He'd carry on living regardless of the lapses. He just hoped Shou would be there to carry his body home. Judai-centric, ship as you please.**_

* * *

 **[Edited July 2016: revised a few sentences, might tweak some more...]**

 **This came to me one morning, after I'd stayed up until 3 AM drawing. I'd read 'The Time Traveler's Wife' a few years before this, and 'Slaughterhouse-Five' a few weeks prior, and something just clicked. I don't own either novel (or the YGO series), to state the obvious, and this isn't a carbon copy of either original book, though they did help to inspire this.**

 **I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

 _ **Ninety-Five Minutes**_

Judai Yuki wakes up; the second time he's woken up that day.

His eyes open; he is still groggy from the process. He gives his shoulders a shake, then his arms, looking carefully at the hands in front of him.

They're comfortable, like a well-worn costume. He knows where he is - and he has to be thankful for a familiar place - and he's not moved too far away, at least.

The hands he sees are smaller than his own, skin light, with recently-cut nails. He spies a small dark splash beneath one nail; just dirtied. Flexing new fingers, he adjusts to the feeling. There's less of that to do, he notes, as he's been here before, both in this body and the room and the place.

He looks up, pale tufts of thick, light hair brushing against the back of his neck. His eyes blink, almost twisting inside as he adjusts to the feeling of glasses. He'd worn these glasses once himself, or at least, a similar pair, for fun. His eyes had hurt after a few minutes of it; this time, they feel perfect. He sees just fine now.

Across the table, another person lays slumped in their chair, head down on the table-top. Brown hair obscures their face; they're breathing, but barely so. Enough to live, at least.

 _Get a haircut,_ he reminds himself; _Shou_ _'_ _s not going to forgive me for clogging up the drain again._ Running a hand through his current hair, he thinks about the statement.

Feathering the thick locks - they were his now, even if only for a while - he stops, and it hits him. _Damn you,_ he concludes. Shou's hair was far thicker and longer than his had ever been while living at the apartment, and yet, the one complaining was Shou. Judai had never cared about the damn hair in the shower.

 _I need to do something about that,_ he thinks. He grasps at an idea.

He looks up at the clock on the wall, same place as always. _9:35._ Give or take the time he'd need to wake up, he still has time, and plenty of it. He wonders where he's left the scissors.

One last look at… _himself_ lying half-dead at the table, he smirks.

The hair place down the road didn't need appointments.

* * *

 _Ninety-five minutes_ to be Shou Marufuji.

 _That was enough._

* * *

Pasta boils away on the stove. It's plain, but does the job.

Judai's on dinner duty that evening. He's learned that somebody's got to pull their weight to avoid starvation in a situation like theirs. He does what he has to, regardless of feelings. He's not too tired, besides, and doesn't mind. He cooks far less frequently than Shou - his housemate takes most days - but the promise remains, at least twice a week.

Shou's bewilderment and subsequent freak-out (and that was _adorable,_ he admits, with a small laugh, what with Shou's baby face) had made his day. His friend had asked why it was _he_ , of the two of them, that had taken a trip to the barbers and had his hair cut. He'd been just as confused as to why, of all the styles, he had asked for what looked like a long fauxhawk.

At least he'd gotten a compliment while on his shift at the grocery store, and from a cute co-worker, no less. Number in phone, he'd seemed happy when he arrived home, and was now lounging in their small living room, no doubt stroking his new hair and (Judai sniggers) the start of an ego.

 _Some part,_ Judai thinks, _does feel strange._ In hindsight, he'd abused Shou's trust.

He'd changed a friend's appearance - his body - without his consent.

It was indeed wrong. He feels ill at the thought.

He tries to be careful most times. But what could he do? It was beyond his control.

He'd never asked for _ninety-five minutes._

* * *

The _minutes_ started at random; they happened often, though he could never say when they would start next.

He didn't think the _minutes_ had any kind of trigger.

* * *

He'd thought it was a dream the first time. It had felt like it, certainly, or at least as far as he remembered; seeing the world through different eyes. He'd seen different hands and different clothes and different surroundings to the where he'd last had his eyes open. He'd been another man, one with his wife and daughter, out in the streets, the little girl merrily sucking on her lollipop. His wife - the host's wife - was beside him, rambling on about some social gathering with friends.

He hadn't known what he was doing, but played along nonetheless. He'd tried. His body had felt weird. He didn't know his own name. He didn't know his wife's or child's names either; none of their ages or preferences.

He'd felt as confused as he strangely felt guilty - what was going on? Why had he forgotten, and what had he lost from his mind? Who was he? Was he Judai Yuki still, or was he this 'honey', this 'daddy', this strange man with his old sweater and worn shoes?

He'd passed for sick and been led home.

He'd collapsed on the bed, feeling delirious - he'd never dreamt like this before, and it hadn't been night, even; why was he dreaming? Why was the bed and the room and the house familiar, and yet strange to him? Why did he find comfort in gripping these sheets and letting go? Why were the walls so confining, so wrong, and yet, homely?

 _What was this dream?_

He'd awoken with a feeling, as if he had been sharply thrust, throughout his entire body. The ceiling had changed. Everything had turned to a piercing white.

He'd heard voices, left and right. He'd felt a stiffness in his limbs. He'd heard something like relief and thankfulness and fear. He'd heard Shou, breathing as if he'd been running. He'd seen Shou enter the strange room and call him by his name and breathe out in relief.

He'd asked him what happened. His friend had explained. He'd fainted while walking through the park; they'd been grocery shopping.

He remembers Shou shivering all of a sudden.

He remembers asking him what was wrong.

He remembers Shou asking _what had happened to his eyes._

* * *

He'd thought he was seeing things too. When his eyes refused to go back, he'd concluded he was either ill or insane.

The other thought he'd had was if anyone would think he looked good again.

* * *

He'd hoped it was a one time thing. He was nineteen years old, jobless and insecure - but so was Shou, and that reassured him - and had been told, countless times, of all the opportunities out there in the world. He'd had no goals nor dreams back then.

He'd managed to get an apartment, one between him and his best friend to save money. They'd made and broken rules about laundry, shopping, 'plus ones' staying the night. He'd started odd-jobbing, with Shou serving milkshakes to pay his share of the rent, while _he_ tried to charm his way around the landlady in an attempt to get a cheaper rent rate.

(Shou had changed jobs since, and the landlady proved to be _very_ happily married.)

When the second _ninety-five minutes_ had happened, he'd been at home. He'd slipped into the body of some girl outside, late at night, and awoken with his face in a bowl of bolognaise.

His body had ached, though not as badly as that of the poor girl, who'd bore the brunt of her boyfriend's fists. He'd wanted to cry for her. He didn't.

Shou had been in bed long before. He'd seen nothing, heard nothing, felt little.

Judai had been thankful. He hadn't wanted Shou, or anyone for that matter, to worry. He couldn't be ill, he thought.

 _Accident. It was an accident. I had a bad dream. A nightmare. I was a woman._

That, in itself, was strange enough.

* * *

Sometimes, he'd look into the mirror and blink and freeze. He'd hope that he had been seeing things all along; that his eyes really were brown again.

* * *

He'd had two more of those 'accidents' before Shou had ordered him to go see a doctor. He'd been out both times; once in Shou's company and once with some girl whose name he'd forgotten. He'd tried to make sense of it all; nothing had come out.

He'd been asked questions and prodded and he'd endured more than a few needles. Nothing abnormal: his blood sugar wasn't excessive or lacking and iron levels were fine. Anaemia was ruled out quickly. His heart was a possible cause, but he admitted he never felt strange before he collapsed. His heartbeat did seem to slow whenever he was unconscious, but never did stop, or so Shou had said then.

The slowing was sudden and painless. He never felt abnormal before he woke up in the wrong shell.

That, he'd been told, was a dream. Hallucinations could happen. Migraines was another suggestion. It was hard to explain, if explaining was possible at all.

The eyes were what threw it all off.

Judai had been brown-eyed since childhood, when they'd darkened from the typical baby-blue to a shade that matched both of his parents'. Shou had met him in high school; brown eyes had read years' worth of textbooks and focused on seasons' worth of baseball. Both owned a yearbook - the photo was small, but Judai Yuki was clearly dark-eyed.

The first thing that had stood out to Shou when he first saw Judai wake up, lying there in a hospital bed after he'd collapsed at the park, was his eyes. Neither was brown anymore.

When Judai had seen them, he'd been sure he'd hallucinated.

One was blue-green; the other was amber.

Test after test followed, days of fatigue and worry and fear; mumblings of some sort of disease. The doctors found nothing. The eyes were as if he'd been born with them.

It was after the mess that was his diagnosis (unknown abnormality, akin to narcolepsy or a frequent fainting disorder) that Judai backed away from the medical system.

* * *

Judai sometimes wondered how Shou felt about it all. He had no job, no medication, and no guarantee he would ever be safe again.

Shou had a life ahead of him.

Was he in the wrong, to be taking that from him?

* * *

He'd started timing the lapses. He had no way of knowing when it would happen, not even a feeling of nausea, as fainting would have it, though the fact that he woke up immediately after did help.

In the kitchen, he'd glanced back and forth at the clock, trying to remember the time. He couldn't predict the lapsing, though one time he'd had a stroke of luck (if you could call it such), when he had lost consciousness with his eyes on the clock.

 _2:21 PM_

His vision recovered quickly; he was an old woman with a watch on her wrist.

 _2:22 PM_

Both were old-faced and leathery; the woman wore round glasses and the watch had a round glass. Her name was unknown, though he did wonder if he had seen her somewhere - she seemed to be out for a walk in the park, feeding the birds from the feel of bread in her pocket.

He'd fed the pigeons and one nearby duck, looking at her watch every time a child ran past.

 _The park,_ he thought, _of all the places I'm stuck in. Where it first happened._

He grew bored of sitting and thought he should move, but didn't know where the old woman had come from or where she was heading to. He tried to use her feet, but her limbs felt stiff and ill-weathered; arthritis in one leg and a numb foot in the other. Even with glasses, it was clear her vision was failing.

Judai had felt quite bad for the woman.

The last time he'd looked at the watch, it had been 3:54 PM. By then, the park had begun to grow quiet.

He woke after a moment of blackness, his cheek cold and unfeeling on the surface of the kitchen table. His vision recovered; it was 3:57 PM.

Taking a minute off for recovery and what he thought of as 'adjustment' to being himself again, he tried to write it down on paper:

 _Clock: 2:21_

 _Woman: 2:22_

 _Last watch: 3:54_

 _Clock: 3:57_

He thought about his blurry vision and the faint soreness he'd experienced, adding:

 _Probably 3:56_

Writing a few calculations as to be sure, he paused to think. Finally, he wrote, at the bottom of the notepad:

 _95 mins_

* * *

Give or take a few minutes, _ninety-five_ seemed to be the answer each time.

There was no explanation.

* * *

The first time he'd woken up as his housemate was, in a nutshell, a horror show.

Most times he'd lapsed, he'd been in the bodies of strangers. Some he'd glimpsed walking through town and most he'd never seen. One or two he'd spoken to. He'd later have a conversation with one person he'd _been_.

He'd been about to get out of bed in the morning when the world had twisted and blanked, and the next time his eyes opened, he was already out of bed and he smelled toast in the air. His hands were smaller and the blue slippers were familiar, but the sight of his own kitchen around him made his heart pound.

He ran to the hallway to see the face of the intruder he'd turned into.

Shou Marufuji's wide eyes, glasses and all, stared back at him.

He ran back into the kitchen, frenzied and checked the time. 8:45 AM. He remembered turning over in his own bed and seeing 8:42.

That was when he knew he had the opportunity. Shedding the slippers - Judai always walked around either barefoot or in socks - he'd sprinted to the bedroom, which he shared with his housemate. One half for each - if he really was Shou, then…

There was the evidence.

Judai found himself staring at his own body, limp as if dead and breaths slow.

He'd wanted to scream.

That morning, the toast was burnt.

* * *

Judai thought about telling Shou sometimes, but always decided not to.

It was all too strange. He'd live, somehow.

* * *

 _Shou himself never suspects it,_ Judai thinks, toying with the cold remains of pasta on his place. Fauxhawk-boy had left the apartment for a quick drink with the cute co-worker. He was alone with his pasta and the tang of regret.

Shou had wondered why he had done some strange things, from burning toast (which he never did) to getting an unexpected haircut, but never had he voiced the possibility of possession. He dismissed it, or so it looked, as an unexpected change of heart.

Judai had once asked him if he felt strange at all one day. Judai had known the truth, that he'd spent another ninety-five minutes in Shou's body, but the host himself shrugged. Not at all, he'd said. Just a bit impulsive, judging from the clothes he seemed to have put on that day.

(Judai's choice. Shou didn't suspect nor question it.)

Judai wondered if anyone he'd possessed ever noticed anything strange about themselves. It didn't seem that way, from his experiences of Shou.

He looks at the calendar, more so the year. It had been over two years since he'd first fainted halfway through the park. Two years plus since his first 'possession' of Shou.

He'd tried to keep track of whose body he'd entered, but lost count soon after losing notebook after notebook to the mess of his room. He lapsed while out of the house, too, and those times were hard to record.

He'd been inside Shou (as strange as it sounded) more than any other individual.

 _Maybe it's because he's my housemate, or because he's my friend._

Most times, he'd find he'd woken up in the body of a local of the small town he lived in; though once he'd opened his eyes seventeen miles away. Sometimes men, sometimes women. Children sometimes. The youngest was probably seven.

He had to be thankful he'd never become a cat or a mouse.

Sometimes, he wondered what would happen if he died while inside another. It wasn't the happiest thought, and he wasn't willing to try it.

* * *

People were always told to use their skills and talents and abilities for the best. He'd grown up hearing it. He'd believed it, too.

He sometimes wondered what the 'best' was in the case of his _ninety-five minutes._

* * *

Shou leaves for work the following day. He does it with a smile, promising Judai he'd be back soon. The evening shift meant he'd most likely bring home leftovers for the two of them, leaving neither on cooking duty.

Judai hears the door shut. He feels like crying.

He hasn't lapsed today, and still, he doesn't know when will be next. He could sit and wait for it. He'd be useless either way.

His condition had left him lapsing into strangers' bodies for the past two years. To him, it was waking up elsewhere, in another skin, as if he'd changed clothes, or entered a kind of new machine that he had to pilot however he pleased. He could do that without warning, and control the bodies of those he possessed as if they were his to begin with.

His odd-jobbing had come to an end not long after his trip to the doctor.

Shou had encouraged him, saying it would be for the best. The fainting spells had become full-on by then. Once a day was no longer a cause of shock for either party. Losing consciousness twice a day would soon become a fact of life.

Some days, there was nothing.

Even so, Shou had grasped his arms and told him to stay. He couldn't risk collapsing doing any kind of work. It was too dangerous, too unpredictable.

He's learned to live with the freak, nameless disorder that ruined his chances of a normal job and a normal life.

Sometimes, he and Shou do go to places together. Shopping, for one. Sometimes, a walk out. Drinks on bad days, as well as some good. Sometimes he talks to people. He's tried to be normal, tried and had a dozen one-off dates with people he's met at the bar, with Shou as his wingman.

 _At least three of those,_ he thinks with a sigh, _ended up with me on the floor._

The rest were just a character thing. Just incompatible.

He'd gone home with Shou - occasionally been carried home, and he's thankful for that. More than anything, he's learned that he's thankful for Shou's presence. He does feel more safe.

He seldom leaves the house alone these days, for better or worse.

* * *

He wants his brown eyes back.

* * *

It's on a particular night, with the rain stampeding outside, that he and Shou are out for drinks, and he starts a conversation with somebody new.

He doesn't know if he's drunk or sober. He lapsed that morning.

Her name is Asuka, he learns. She looks good in white.

Judai knows he can't afford to buy her a drink - he and Shou are already borderline broke, even with the sympathies of their landlady over Judai's condition and the rent concessions - but she laughs it off and buys her own tonic. She says she's never liked men buying her drinks, besides.

He laughs back, too, sheepish. From the corner of his eye, he spots his 'wingman' trying to settle a bet with Kenzan, a guy from work he's mentioned a few times. He wishes Shou good luck, and hears Asuka laugh.

It's silly, he thinks, how this is all working out. He doesn't lapse that evening, and he leaves with a definitely-not-sober-and-slightly-angry housemate (clinging to him, for once) and a new phone number in his contacts.

He also leaves with a kiss on the cheek.

His own body hadn't been kissed since before the lapses began.

* * *

 _Everyone can be lucky,_ he thinks, inside the body of a gambler, scooping out a handful of coins from a slot machine.

* * *

Maybe he can make it work out.

"Date two, Shou! It's crazy, right?" He can't contain his excitement. He's stuck between casual and smart-casual and going out to buy himself a full on suit and bow tie.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Shou seems like a worried mother to Judai sometimes, but he realises he can't help it. He hadn't fainted the day before, and today had been devoid of 'experiences' too.

He fears it too, deep down. He thinks he's going to lapse tonight, and he so badly wants Shou to be there, for both moral support and support of the physical variety.

Same place, same time, just him and Asuka. He can't help but smile. He's got to man up and go alone and get the girl, like in all of the movies. He's got to forget he's a jobless, questionably ill loner and play the role of the guy he's always dreamt of being.

"I'll be fine," he shrugs, fingers locked in his usual half-salute. "I gotcha."

Shou's expression doesn't change. For a moment, there's silence in the room.

Judai looks back at his friend. "I'll tell her. First thing, I'll tell her. If she walks out on me, I'll call you, OK?"

He's desperate for this. He's got a chance at last. He's got a date with somebody.

"And what if you don't call me?"

"Assume all went well. That, or I'm dead."

Judai laughs at his own joke. Shou's expression stays the same, but as Judai leaves, he definitely hears him calling, "Good luck!"

* * *

He gets lucky that night. Asuka agrees to see him again.

He questions his luck when he warns her about his condition and she only places a hand on his shoulder and promises to stay with him, no matter the circumstance.

He comes home happy, and sleeps well that night.

The following morning, he wakes up elsewhere.

* * *

Asuka sees him lapse firsthand on their fourth date.

He doesn't know whose body he's in. He's some guy at a concert, fist-pumping and borderline deaf, with a drink in his hand and a topless raver headbanging behind him.

The music is awful.

He's glad to wake up as himself, the ringing vanishing from his ears. Asuka's face is the first thing he sees, along with a tall waiter with a stain on his apron, and a couple from the table next to them, whose concerned faces tell him all he needs to know.

The small 'crowd' disperses a few minutes after he's reassured them twenty times over. _I_ _'_ _m all right, no need to call an ambulance, this happens all the time. I_ _'_ _m still breathing. I_ _'_ _m not dead._

(Asuka laughs at that last one, whether it's correct to do so or not.)

She walks him home, having paid the bill and tipped the waiter. She admits she wanted to pay in the first place.

"Think about it. Too often it's the guy paying his way."

Judai nods back at her. "Yeah, but…"

"Judai, I know you're broke. And you never asked to faint anyway." She's right about the fainting. In tone, she's firm and she knows what she wants.

Judai thinks that he likes that about her.

"So, I'm paying a while. You don't have to worry about it." She gives him a look, her smile sweet and bright under the streetlights; he can't help but smile in response.

"The princess saving the dragon? Damn, some hero I am…"

"You mean the knight, not the dragon." Both laugh in sync with each other.

She reaches out and takes hold of his hand, and he blushes a little. It's a beautiful moment, out in the streets of the town, with the moon and the stars and the streetlights and -

A motorcycle flies past, its engine tearing through the night and the quiet.

Neither Judai nor Asuka say anything back.

There's a pause and a stare. The moment feels right. What follows is something that Asuka, years in the future, would go on to describe as 'the kissing fail to end all fails'.

Judai would call it 'not bad'.

* * *

 _What if Asuka found out the truth?_

The thought only comes to him one afternoon after he wakes up on the living room rug, having literally walked a mile in Asuka's shoes.

* * *

He keeps track of his dates on the calendar, with Shou occasionally showing signs of jealousy. They laugh it off most times, with Shou vowing to do his best too on the dating front.

(For two months, he failed spectacularly. The streak was almost broken, but Shou refused to accept anything from a drunk girl.)

Judai and Asuka invite Shou with them for lunch once; the first time the guys pay. It's almost forced, what with her becoming used to doing the formalities, but they get her to back down, somehow. Neither is sure exactly how, but when the deed is done, all three are left with stupid smiles on their faces, full stomachs and a story to tell friends over alcohol.

Asuka somehow integrates, and it's for the best - she's used to Judai losing consciousness mid-date by now, and though it's not a certain occurrence, she somehow gathers the right words to reassure and convince those around her that yes, her boyfriend is OK, and no, he's not had it for the first time. It's awkward at first, both know that, but as weeks fly by and the calendar changes, she learns to keep a hold of her fears.

Judai always wakes up afterwards. She still checks his breathing, holds his hand as his breathing speeds up before waking, asks him if he's all right.

"I'm fine. It's all right."

Both are happy with that.

* * *

They're in bed once. Asuka texts Shou while Judai's not looking:

 _Mother, he's fine_

Things start again. Midway, Judai's phone chimes.

 _You laid the babysitter_

The moment is killed by means of laughter.

* * *

It's July, and his birthday's in August. He's been with Asuka for four months.

Judai hasn't counted the lapses nor timed them; after two years, he knows the timing of _ninety-five minutes_ like the back of his hand. He was in Shou's body last time, again, late last night. Asuka was back at her place, musing over a dilemma she'd struggled with lately.

Both Judai and Shou had asked her about it, and she'd told the truth.

Asuka wasn't too close with her parents, but she wanted to tell them that she was happy. She wanted them to know that she'd found somebody, and that they were dating, and that they were happy together.

Her parents, she'd moaned, had always complained that she'd never dated anyone. Telling them about Judai was sure to improve things. They'd understand her, and help both if there was anything they needed.

Four months was a while. Good enough for them, or for anyone. She had high hopes.

At the same time, she couldn't help but feel anxious. She'd arranged to see them that weekend, alone - they lived an hour away from her own apartment in town, and she'd bring Judai to meet them next time.

It was better if she went and saw them alone, just to catch up, she'd said.

She'd said the words with a faint tremble and some kind of fear in her eyes.

Judai had looked at her. He knew her worry straight out.

 _How will she tell them about me? About my condition? About the fact I'll never have a job or be able to drive?_

Asuka had money. He didn't. He knew nothing about her family - she'd avoided most mentions - but from the boldness with which she swiped her card out of her wallet, he'd assumed she was rich.

Wealth played no part in his choice to date her. Asuka was pretty and confident and caring. Nobody, male or female, would care for a fainter like him. Asuka had changed things.

She was the change he had needed. Shou had provided support and Asuka had lifted him out of despair. She'd seen past the lapses and his strange-coloured eyes and the lack of money and probably independence for the rest of his life.

Judai wishes her luck when she calls as she's about to leave, just as Shou had wished him luck on their dates. He feels lucky, somehow. Her parents will understand.

He has his own fears, too. They stay. He'd wondered how she'd react if he told her the truth.

 _"Ninety-five minutes."_

* * *

He decides he's going to tell her as soon as she comes back.

The evening Asuka goes to meet her parents, Shou offers him some consolation for his worries. He's found a cheap recipe for brownies.

* * *

He wakes up in a man's body the next time, and looking down, his new hands are calloused and worn. There's a heaviness in his shoulders and a roughness in his throat and the faint twitch in his fingers when he wonders if it's cigarettes.

He's alone at a table, staring at wood, with a voice in the background. His heart stops for a moment.

He hears Asuka, somehow strained, through the walls of the room he is in, and another woman. Someone's on the verge of crying and the other is accusing, firmly speaking, scalding. Something like guilt is present in his new mind - though he suspects he's been in this body before - and fists clench. He's sure of this new drive.

Judai thinks of what Asuka's done. He's thankful. He's going to keep his promise to her, regardless of circumstance. _He_ _'_ _s going to do it._

He picks himself up, some force making his head spin. Maybe it's age. Maybe the day. He's never felt any sort of discomfort whenever he _enters._ His vision isn't focused quite right, but what he does need, he spots in the corner of his eye. He takes.

His strides are quick and firm, a worn blazer upon him, - familiar as a second skin with wear, everything is familiar - a hole in one sock, the thrum of the floorboards much heavier. The house is familiar to the body he's in, but not to his mind; Asuka's voice continues to sound. Pieces of theories play in his head, changing and connecting as the voices grow louder.

 _Ninety-five minutes._

He turns left, leaving the corridor and stops in the doorway. The room in front is lit up;he fireplace crackles with depth. He sees Asuka, the same black dress, a pained look in her face. Across the room, a shorter woman with her hair in a tangled bun stands firm with a frown. Her clothes seem like sheets, ill fitting and dull on her body. Her hair is grey.

She breaks off her stare at Asuka to turn at Judai, or rather his host. Her expression is venom.

"And what do _you_ think of this? Your daughter, in bed with some…half-dead _bastard!_ "

"He's not half dead, he's perfectly fine!" Asuka strikes back. He can see she's trembling. "He can't help it. He didn't ask for it!"

"Better a dead one than that." The woman scoffs, her look of pride pinning Asuka down in spite of the height disadvantage. _Asuka_ _'_ _s mother,_ Judai concludes. _It seems most likely._

Arms in the air, grandiosely spread, the elder woman takes a step closer. "You could have had someone with looks. You could have had someone with an actual future. And? Who did you choose in the end?"

She snaps, turning her head to face Judai exactly. "Don't just stand there!"

Her eyes gravitate to her daughter's again, not letting go for a second. "You just had to choose some _fuck_ off the streets."

He sees a tear in one eye. She quivers. She can't speak.

He can't just stand there.

"Asuka."

The voice is hoarse, as he suspected it would be with this throat. He's accustomed to different pressures and shapes, skin and bones and muscle, and he's had time to learn. He's going to speak, he's decided; if there is one thing he has to do some time, then he will do it today, here and now.

He feels sick in the mind. His body is careless.

She doesn't turn to face him at all. Instead, she looks down, facing the floor, as if begging for it to swallow her whole. Her shoulders shake in the silence. Her hair falls and covers her face. It's for the better.

He sighs, carrying himself, just as heavy and sick as she seems, trying to close the gap between himself and her, regardless of his body's identity, name and face; his name is Judai Yuki and he has less than ninety-five minutes.

"Asuka," he says again, trying to be gentle with strange hands. His memory's failing him, but he's sure he's been this person before. He's worn similar clothing, at least, and the throat might not have been as rough in times past, but the idea of being Asuka's father seems not too strange. He places a hand on her shoulder; she shrugs, as if to throw him off.

"Asuka."

"Fuck off. What do you know?" She's crying, or trying to fight off the tears - he can't see past her fringe. He remembers the things she'd said about family. He wishes he was elsewhere. She hates this current host; she hates her father, and she resents her mother even more so. It's clear, even with the fatigue and the fever just starting to bloom in his chest.

"Asuka."

He can't say it.

"You don't know him. He's strange, but I've tried."

There's a certain tang that rises in his host's mouth as the sound of those words. It's his thoughts causing this - not the host's, Judai's - it's the guilt, he thinks. He'd tried, too, and he'd not denied he was strange, but this…

Would she ever accept him for this?

"Asuka, please…" Now the courage is there. A little, enough to hold in a hand and give to another. He's going to do this. Now or never. Now or never, his mind says again. "Please, listen."

She doesn't turn for him. Her mother's backed off. Her scowl is for _him._

In his hands are answers. Sweat seeps into the notepad and makes his grip loose on the pen. He has to do something.

They have to believe.

He'd give the world for a still lifetime of days and hours, not just _ninety-five minutes._

"Look at me. Please. Asuka."

He'd say her name until it lost meaning.

The notepad is in his hands. He takes the pen and clicks; strokes quick, he writes his message. Even the pen feels odd as he holds it, clumsily so - this body holds it differently, he thinks. The letters are his, the way he writes them most days; his defining mark. He could speak a thousand words and the voice would never be his, but what he wrote was true to his mind; the serif lines absent from 'I's and a slight slant to the right when he wrote entirely in capitals. He couldn't forge the way his hosts wrote, and avoided writing at all costs, but this time was different.

Don't think like the host. Think like yourself.

He wasn't sure who he was anymore sometimes.

Almost sick in his throat and beginning to tremble - the nerves - he places his hand back on Asuka's shoulder and hopes she will look his way. Gently, she moves one hand to move her loose strands from her eyes; Judai sees tears. He lifts the notepad.

 _I AM JUDAI_

He hears a gasp before he is pushed. Almost losing control of the body, he retains his balance quickly, heart beating faster and louder.

"Asuka -"

"It's not funny!" She's screaming, crying, both, neither. He's guilty.

"Asuka, please, listen!"

"Why should I?" Her hand grabs his host body's shirt, nails almost scratching his chest with fury. "I come here to be honest for once… All I get is ridicule!" She grips tighter; he's never seen her like this before. They've argued, but he's never seen her use violence. He sees the look in her eyes and thinks himself lucky that this is her _father._

"Asuka, there's a reason for this! All of it, please, I'll explain! Just please, believe me, it's me!"

He doesn't know how he can prove it. He looks like her father, sounds like him, feels like him. He has his writing, but even so, Asuka's rarely seen the real _him_ write. She can't see beyond the body of her father, he thinks, and neither can anyone else.

 _I am alone -_

"You're screwing with me! You can't be Judai!" It pains him to see her like this. "You can't be somebody else! Stop with these games!"

"I'm not playing, please, listen…"

"Why should I?"

She's going to leave. She's going to come home and find the real Judai passed out on the floor and think she's gone mad. She'll walk out and never speak to her parents again.

He can't break them any more than they've already been broken. He has to fix this.

"Clearly, you're just as deluded!" Asuka's mother hasn't let go of her spite. He sees the resemblance between her and Asuka then; her hair had greyed and her face had aged, but the two women's eyes are almost identical. Both pairs shine hazel; both sets of brows furrow the same way in episodes of rage. "Bastard…" is all he hears her mumble before she shoves her way out of the room.

Judai and Asuka stand alone. Asuka faces her father; Judai is invisible to her. He wants to scream, too - scream his honest words and make her promises and swear he would tell her the truth.

Nobody says a thing; the clock ticks in the background. _Eighty-five minutes._

"Asuka, please. I promise. It's me." He tries his best with these strange muscles and the odd tensions so different to his own body, attempting to make some semblance of a smile.

"Stop fucking around."

"I'm honest. Please, look at me. Asuka."

For a few seconds - the clock is clear, ticking and ticking - she doesn't. She seems to give in with a sigh, voice frail and eyes red. Slowly, she looks up, face-to-face with her father and face-to-face with the host of Judai Yuki.

He tries to retain the smile. He takes a deep breath.

These fingers aren't his, but he can control them, all the same. He can still make her believe.

He raises his right arm, arranging his fingers in the way he remembered. Half-salute.

"Gotcha."

The rest is a blur.

* * *

He wakes up eighty-one minutes later; he's in the kitchen of his apartment, face numb from an hour and a half on the floor.

He turns, sees Shou's familiar smile and reaches for his friend's hand.

He hears Asuka crying.

The following morning, Asuka isn't there. There's a letter in the kitchen.

 _It's for the best._

* * *

Shou greets him, fully dressed but just as tired as he is, rubbing his eyes still despite waking much earlier. He doesn't ask questions.

Judai takes the warm mug of coffee set there for him, and breathes in.

"Thanks."

He thinks of telling Shou some day, but burns his tongue trying to forget the events of the previous night. His friend knows him more than most, perhaps more than Asuka did.

"I'll stay home today."

He figures, Shou has a shift today. They need money. He can't afford to. He protests.

"It's fine. I'll ask Kenzan to cover."

He still wants to protest,but feels too weak to. He thinks of going back to bed, and maybe having a dream where his eyes aren't odd and the only body he's ever been in is his own.

"I know, it's hell. Relax. It helps."

Shou speaks gently, and Judai wonders how it is that he has him in the first place; this carer and friend and partner of mutual understanding.

He wants to embrace him and cry with the hurt that he felt. He wants to tell him. He hopes he'll understand.

Even so, how could he explain _ninety-five minutes?_

* * *

He wants his brown eyes again.

He wants _her_ hazel eyes again.

 _Asuka._

* * *

He puts the brush back where it came from, resting against Shou's own; identical, to save money, save for the difference in colour to avoid confusion. One hand rests against the glass, the other moves to rub sleep out of his eyes.

His eyes are still the same.

Three years soon.

With a sigh, he mentally admits it: he was an idiot. There was no way she would accept it there and then, and he'd only made it worse. He'd never told Shou, and he'd known him since high school. He'd been a friend for ten years plus. They shared an apartment. He said he'd always be there.

Asuka had said that, too. She wasn't here any more, or anywhere within reach for that matter. He'd tried to text her and call her, but she hadn't picked up.

He leaves the bathroom with his head down, begging for another ninety-five minutes to take him elsewhere. The minutes had already done enough; they'd harmed all hopes he'd had to ever make it anywhere in life. Another hour-and-a-half would be some relief, for once.

He's about to retreat into his room when he hears his name across the corridor. He doesn't want to talk.

Shou runs out and gives him no choice, clutching his shirt and dragging him into the living room. Judai tries to shake him off, but is forced to give up. He couldn't care less for a fight with the only friend he'd had for a long time.

Shou offers him a cookie. He takes it and chews. There's nothing to it.

The silence goes on, until Shou musters up some courage.

"What happened last night?"

Judai says nothing, putting down the remainders of the cookie and letting out a sigh.

"I'm your friend, Judai. You can trust me, I promise." Shou has never been insincere, in seriousness and humour. Judai knows he can't be lying. All the same, his heart begins to speed up.

 _Do I tell him do I tell him do I do I -_

"She said I could trust her." His own throat has grown dry; an ironic match to the throat he'd spoken with before. The world was just raring, it seemed, to taunt him. "She said she'd be there."

He breathes out, straining not to cry. "Nobody can be there for me."

"I-I'm there!" Shou's normally quiet voice rises in volume; that, Judai knows, only happened when his friend was angry or serious, at least. "I've been there, Judai. You can tell me, all right? No matter what. I promise, anything in the world, I am not going to leave you!" His hands had turned to fists, eyes wild with resolve.

"Tell me, Judai!" He was never joking when he said he cared. Judai had teased him for it, likened him to a mother-hen, laughed with the joke himself, but that was the truth.

He'd been the fool. Shou had been there all along, and he'd never told _him._ Asuka had been there less than half a year. He'd liked her, that was true, but Shou? Shou had never abandoned him. Shou had let him stay on in the apartment even after the lapses started. Shou had been working harder than ever to pay the full rent, even with the discount the landlady's sympathy had given them. Shou had accompanied Judai wherever he went after the incident in the park, and had been his faithful wingman, in loss and in romantic gain.

Shou Marufuji had been the most important person in his life, both carer and friend and housemate for three years of his life.

He'd forgotten.

He'd been so stupid.

He feels something like a teardrop pricking at the edge of both eyes.

"Are you all right? Judai?" Shou's concerned voice sounds yet again. It was clear that he wasn't all right, yet he still asked…

 _He knows me. He knows I don't ever say it out straight, or out loud._

"I've been a liar to you, Shou. I've been a liar." He clutches Shou's arm; Shou clutches his back.

They embrace. Judai's never felt more thankful for his friend at any one point in his life.

He's going to think, to slow down.

He knows Shou will understand, even if he doesn't understand it himself. He's a case beyond medicine, perhaps beyond science. He doesn't have an explanation, nor an understanding - what he knows, he knows through experience, and the rest is just a series of guesses. He's as scared of the time as he is of death, of the ninety-five minutes, of everyone and everything around him, and it's the truth he's never been able to confess.

Shou holds him tighter. Both men cry.

* * *

 _There are questions and answers, too often more of the former than the latter._

 _Humanity asks and hopes and searches._

 _Some things will never be understood._

* * *

His birthday comes on the last day of summer. It's his twenty-second.

It's not a bad day, he thinks.

It's clearly near autumn; already, he's heard two girls on a nearby bench freaking out about the new school term, seen stupid pumpkins in one shop and blaring sales banners in all the others. It's still warm, and he's happy with that.

It's just him and Shou so far.

Shou has the day off, and Asuka's joining them. Kenzan, too - his friend's work friend has visited a few times now, and they've shared drinks and pizza over stories of high school and failed dates and strange encounters on the street and beyond.

He sighs with relief at the thought of Asuka. She understood in the end, after much explaining, as much as Shou did. She agreed to see him again.

He calls her a friend, and so does she. They're happy this way.

The meeting's at two; they'll reach the pizza place before then. He checks his watch to confirm, and finds he's correct. 1:30 PM.

He's never been one for watches, but this one is special. Still new, crystal-clear, with small, neat hands; Shou had presented it that morning, messily wrapped in red paper; he'd never been good at giftwrap. The paper all came off in the end, and Judai hadn't cared one bit about that.

The gift mattered, of course.

" _I thought it'd suit you… and I guess you can count the minutes."_

He'd practically jumped on Shou, smiling beyond control. He'd have been happy to receive anything at all; clearly, his friend had gone above and beyond.

Shou had asked questions, and he had answered. He'd shared what he knew and what he thought, and the things he had seen and experienced. Shou had listened and advised, amazed and horrified. Above all, he'd been there for him, waiting by his side when another _ninety-five_ _minutes_ struck and at the end, glass of water and eager mind ever-present.

Walking past the spot in the part where he'd first 'fainted', Judai turns to Shou. The latter smiles with hope. It's odd, thinks Judai - almost three years ago, life as he knew it had ended, and he's still here today, here and now.

His last lapse had been that day, in the early morning; he'd been the newspaper boy. The day before, he'd been Asuka's mother watching some useless chat show.

That same day, a few hours on, he'd been some angered teenager, and thought he'd use his minutes for the better. He'd found a recipe for brownies and hoped he didn't burn them; his time ran out before he could get them from the oven.

Shou had laughed, and brought home a pair of muffins after his shift. _Chocolate._

 _I_ _'_ _ll live,_ he thinks. _Shou said he_ _'_ _d make sure of that._ Asuka would help, too; she'd promised. Kenzan didn't know yet, but he would tell him soon. He'd lapse again, anyway, and they were good friends. Knowing would be best in the end.

His phone chimes with a new message. He reads it, from Asuka:

 _Will be late, fuck traffic. See you soon!_

Shou shrugs his shoulders; he already knows about Kenzan. Kenzan's never shown up early to anything, word goes, not even his own work shift. Judai laughs with him; neither gives a damn.

They've got time to kill, anyway. There's benches nearby.

Judai has no idea what's coming. He's learned to live with the eyes. The lapses still happen. He still finds himself becoming someone else on a frequent basis.

He's found a small magazine searching for writers online. He's not a writer by reputation, but he's going to try his best.

He swears it: the day his first article is published is the day he'll go out and buy the champagne for their group, even if it leaves him broke. He's not after the world, but a little glory, he decides, is still worth celebrating.

His parents sent their regards for his birthday. Asuka's did, too.

Friends will be coming. Shou's already here.

Life's good.

* * *

 _ **End**_


End file.
